


Maybe I'll Be Back Some Day

by chelseachelseaIbelieve



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelseachelseaIbelieve/pseuds/chelseachelseaIbelieve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was blinking slowly, his eyes heavy-lidded and the corner of his mouth twitching when his unfocused eyes landed on Jonathan. He sighed heavily; his body seemed to melt into the discolored linoleum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe I'll Be Back Some Day

**Author's Note:**

> This has been gathering dust on my harddrive for about a year now and figured I would go ahead and post...this is completely unbeta'd so any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.
> 
> *I got the idea for this fic after listening to Hootie and the Blowfish's "Let Her Cry"

Every sign was there. Every fake smile, every shallow touch screaming to be captured and held. 

In the moments that followed their elimination in the playoffs, Jonathan had been too consumed in his own guilt, in his own heartbreak, to properly see what was right in front of him. Patrick was falling apart, crumbling under the force of all the pressure and all the criticism and yet Jonathan had let him walk right out of the locker room without so much as a second glance. In the mad sprint they all seemed to be in, to get as far away from every reminder the city held, Jonathan hadn’t even bothered to call and check up on Patrick. To tell him he understood. Tell him he loved him in whatever way Patrick needed. Whatever he wanted.

No. Instead he caught the first flight home after they’d cleaned their lockers out. To the comforting surroundings of the cabin and the lake, refusing to take calls even from his mother as he brutally squandered every waking minute in his makeshift gym and in the quiet solitude of his boat rocking lazily in the water. Trying to forget. His mind, at even a moment’s rest, would hurtle back to every mistake he had made, every turn over; every missed shot, and he just really couldn’t deal with that right now.

His phone remained off for long periods of time. His family and a select few knew the number to the cabin if need be, but it had remained blissfully silent in the days since he had arrived.

He did check his phone every other day or so and was not entirely surprised when he got a text from Sharpy nearly a week in to his seclusion.

“I tried but he won’t listen to me,”

Jonathan shook his head; already bracing for what he would see when his phone loaded the link attached to the text. The pictures were all there, one just as damning as the next and all the same in their sleazy intent. This was par for the course in “Kaner logic,” a natural reaction to defeat when you put every part of your energy and your soul into something, anything, that fails none-the-less. 

But it was Patrick’s eyes that sent a chill down Jonathan’s spine. They were absolutely devoid of the typical plastered exuberance that normally shadowed Patrick’s face, even when he was upset about something. This Patrick was off in a major way. His shoulders were slumped, drawn in on himself; his infectious smile was nowhere to be found.

He wasn’t trying to escape. He was trying to drown.

Jonathan started off with a random text. Hoping to get any little indication out of Patrick’s eventual response, but after 2 days, half a dozen texts and 3 voicemail messages, there was still no response. Jonathan was about to jump out of his skin. He’d called Sharpy who had explained that he had tried to talk to Patrick when the articles and pictures first started popping up, trying to convince him to come back to Chicago and crash with him and Abby. Patrick had hung up, though, shutting his phone off for the duration without a single word.

Each day that passed, Patrick seemed to get further and further away, making his way through numerous bars and campuses as Jonathan tried blindly to track his movement; to reach out to him somehow. He kept sending texts and left countless voicemails but nothing was returned. The Google alerts kept assaulting his screen when he dared to log in and everything was just getting worse.

Jonathan was just about to give up, seeing as how Patrick was actively avoiding him and Jonathan could never get a clear location on him for long enough to make heads or tails of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was 4am, the ringer pierced the still air and Jonathan shot up in bed, grabbing for his phone, knocking the alarm clock and lamp off in the process.

Jonathan didn’t need to look at the caller I.D. to know who it was. His heart felt like it was about to explode out of his chest and all of a sudden he could barely breathe. His palms were sweaty and his fingers slipped over the keys.

“Patrick!” Jonathan yelled in to the phone, pulling the receiver away from his ear as loud music and a heavy bass blasted from wherever Patrick was.

There was a long silence and the music was already starting to give Jonathan a headache as he shook his head, trying to wake up. “Patrick. Are you ok? Where are you?”

Jonathan could hear heavy breathing on the other end, running his hand over his face and through his hair, he was about to shout even louder when the background noise died down as he heard a door close. “Jonny?”

Jonathan exhaled roughly, like a punch to the gut. “Patrick, it’s me. Are you ok?”

“No.”

“Are you hurt?” Jonathan asked, alarmed. He pushed the comforter back violently as he quickly pulled his pants on. He didn’t really know what he was doing but he needed to do something.

Patrick sighed. “No.”

The relief was instant and frightening. “Patrick, I need you to tell me where you are.” If he could just get a location he could start to fix this whole mess.

“I don’t know.” Patrick sounded absolutely destroyed. Jonathan flinched.

“Find somebody and let me talk to them.” Jonathan pleaded.

The music roared back to life and Jonathan could hear people yelling all around. Patrick’s reappearance was followed by a chorus of people shouting his name and Jonathan could hear him mumble something to someone. “Hello?” A deep voice slurred into the phone.

“I need you to tell me where you are so I can come and get Patrick.”

“Why you gonna do that? We’re just gettin started. Who is this?” The guy giggled; Jonathan rolled his eyes. Whoever he was talking to had the phone pressed right up to his lips because he could hardly hear anything over the swooshing of skin on the receiver.

“It doesn’t matter who the fuck I am, where are you?”

The guy pressed on, completely unfazed by Jonathan’s words. “Patty Boy is just fine!” The guy started laughing. “Wouldn’t it be hilarious if this was Toews on the phone? Dude’s got the voice down…” the guy lowered his voice even lower, mocking. Whoever was around him started shouting excitedly, encouraging the guy on, and Jonathan could hear Patrick protesting weakly in the background. “Holy fuck, is this Tazer?”

Jonathan was about to put his hand through the wall. If he didn’t need this asshole to help him find Patrick, Jonathan would gladly track him down and beat the shit out of him himself. “My name is not Tazer, it is Jonathan Toews.”

“No fucking way! You guys, I’m talking to Jonathan Toews. Suck my dick I’m awesome. Dude you wanna come party? We got alcohol out the ass and chicks that are willing drop on a dime.”

Jonathan stopped pacing. He could use this. He made his way down the hallway and grabbed for his keys and wallet. “You know what, that sounds like a good idea. Point me in the right direction.”

After getting their location, Jonathan managed to bro-talk the guy in to giving the phone back to Patrick as the noise died down once more. “Patrick, I’m on my way. Just try to find someplace to crash, but don’t leave, got it?”

He could practically see Patrick nodding as the phone rustled.

Jonathan hung up, sprinting out the door. He got to the airport within 30 minutes and then had to wait 3 hours before the next flight to Madison would take off. The entire time he waited, both in the airport and on the plane, Jonathan couldn’t sit still as his mind bombarded him with visions of Patrick slumped over a chair or some random bed, alone and fighting whatever demons were haunting him. Luckily, the plane ride passed quickly, mercifully.

Nearly an hour and a half later he was pulling up to the frat house the guy had directed him toand it was still in full swing. Not bothering to knock, Jonathan let himself in and pushed his way through the crowded, smoke-filled room, bounding up the stairs, ducking his head down in an attempt to not be seen. He didn’t have the time to deal with anyone right now.

He kept calling Patrick’s phone, listening for his distinct ringtone as he went from room to room. He saw a bunch of shit he would rather not have but he finally found Patrick semi-conscious on a bathroom floor. He was blinking slowly, his eyes heavy-lidded and the corner of his mouth twitching when his unfocused eyes landed on Jonathan. He sighed heavily; his body seemed to melt into the discolored linoleum. His shirt was pushed up his back and there was various pen and marker drawings and words littering his skin. Jonathan gave quick thought to finding whoever thought it a good idea to mark him like that when he was passed out, but quickly let it go. As much as he wanted to scrub Patrick’s skin clean, erase the entire mess, he had bigger priorities to contend with.

Jonathan fought back the urge to vomit as he crouched down beside Patrick, pulling his shirt down to cover the marks, his hand resting at his hip. “You ready to get out of here?”

Patrick nodded his head. He wiped at the corner of his mouth before pushing himself up on shaky hands. He probably hadn’t consumed anything that didn’t contain alcohol in it for days. He’d be lucky if he didn’t end up in the hospital from alcohol poisoning or dehydration, or both.

Jonathan reached down, pulling Patrick’s arm around his shoulder, his hand securing at Patrick’s hip once more. Patrick leaned heavily into his side, his head lulling on his shoulder, but seemed otherwise capable of walking.

No one really noticed them as they made their way down the stairs, until the guy from the phone, earlier, saw them heading towards the front door. He came barreling over towards them, shouting “Tazer” over and over again until he caught Jonathan’s eyes, stopping abruptly when Jonathan all but growled at him.

Jonathan got Patrick in his rental and to the closest hotel that was still far enough away. He had no preferences, he told the lady at the front desk, other than a bed and a bathroom. As much as he wanted to get Patrick the hell out of this place, he needed to make sure he was okay first. He couldn’t let his fierce need to shield him from all this shit, from whatever was eating away at him, interfere with his health. He needed to take a step back.

He got a bottle of water and some Advil in Patrick before he passed out on the bed, leaving Jonathan miserably to his own thoughts. He sat on the shabby couch along the wall, the fabric rough against the denim of his jeans, and watched Patrick sleep. He was too keyed up to even think about sleeping and his mind was screaming at him.

He was pissed off at himself for not getting a handle on this before it ever started instead of worrying only about himself. A good captain puts his team first. A good friend puts the guy who is probably the most important person, outside of his family, first. He knows how Patrick operates in situations like this and he should have expected it, or at least paid better attention.

But more so, he was pissed at Patrick for turning to strangers who wanted nothing more than to use him, instead of turning to him. If Patrick really wanted, needed, to do all of this, to drown out the rest of the world, Jonathan could have at least made sure that he was safe while doing it. But Patrick never even gave him the chance.

Hours later, Patrick started to stir, groaning deeply when he opened his eyes and was met with the harsh sunlight the thin curtains were unable to keep out. So much time had passed between when they had originally talked on the phone until now, Jonathan was hardly aware of what day it was.

Patrick sat up and looked around, no doubt trying to figure out where he was, his mouth falling open when he saw Jonathan sitting across the room. His cheeks flared and his hands clenched at his sides. “What the fuck are you doing here? And where the fuck are we?”

Jonathan rolled his eyes, not even close to being in the mood to deal with a bitchy Patrick. “We’re in fucking Madison, asshole.”

“Madison?”

“Yeah, do you remember anything, at all?” Jonathan scrubbed at his face once more, standing but making no move towards Patrick. Patrick looked like a caged, frightened animal.

“Fuck yes I remember everything,” he lied.

Jonathan crossed his arms over his chest. “Really, so you remember calling me?”

Patrick pushed himself off the bed, still in the same clothes he had been wearing for who knows how many days. “Why the fuck would I do that?” He shoved his feet in his shoes, standing up too quickly, almost losing his balance.

Jonathan wanted to reach out to correct him but he remained where he was. This was taking a bad turn in a quick way and he couldn’t get a grip on the resentment in Patrick’s voice. “I don’t know, maybe because you were so shit-faced and you had no idea where you were? I’d been trying to get a hold of you for days!”

Patrick’s eyes softened for a split second before his hands fisted as he side once again. “Can’t take a hint, can you?”

Jonathan was officially pissed. He covered the feet between them in one fluid stride, gripping Patrick’s shoulders and squeezing just this side of painful. “What is your fucking deal? This is the thanks I get for getting your ass out of that fucking hell hole you’d managed to get yourself into? Get you away from those assholes who were only so eager to help you pour even more alcohol down your throat. The same people who saw you passed out on the bathroom floor and thought the best thing to do was go find a fucking Sharpie?” Jonathan was practically yelling by the end.

“I can take care of myself, so just fuck off.” Patrick threw his arms up, dislodging Jonathan’s grip.

“Obviously not,” Jonathan spat out.

Patrick’s eyes were wild now. “Why in the fuck do you do this?”

“Do what?”

Patrick motioned between them furiously. “I get in to shit and there you are, ready to pull me out every time. Patrick’s Kane’s very own Boy Scout. Why do you fucking care?”

Jonathan’s face scrunched up. “Because that’s what we do. I pull you out of these shit situations you get yourself in to and then you pull me out of mine.”

Patrick’s eyes flashed. “I’ve hardly ever had to pull you out of anything.”

Jonathan shook his head. He couldn’t believe how dense Patrick could be sometimes. “You are so fucking stupid, do you know that? When I had my concussion and was out all that time you stepped up. You didn’t have to and fuck knows there are plenty of other people who could have taken on that responsibility, but you did.”

“Yeah, and fuck all good that did, huh?” Patrick’s red-rimmed eyes blazed.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jonathan yelled before actively counting to five and lowering his voice. There was far more important things that needed to be taken care of before they started going rounds. “You need to calm down. When was the last time you ate…or drank anything that didn’t have a goddamn pop top?”

Patrick shook his head, his hands flying through his hair. “Don’t tell me to calm down. That was a big waste of a fucking trip, so why don’t you just go back up to your precious cabin and go watch some more fucking moose for all I care.”

Patrick spun on his heels, grabbing for the door.

Jonathan lunged forward but knew better than to touch Patrick. “Don’t leave, Patrick…where are you going to go?”

Patrick shook his head, the fire in his eyes bleeding out leaving him visibly tired and thoroughly exhausted. “None of your fucking business and do not try to stop me!” Patrick left; walked right out the door and Jonathan…Jonathan fell back onto the couch, his head in his hands.

What the fuck was he supposed to do? Even if he could grab Patrick and make him stay – and he didn’t get the cops called on him by others at the hotel – what good would it really do? He might get Patrick to sober up, but it wouldn’t last. It never did when Jonathan tried to help him.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the contacts before pressing the call button.

“Hello?”

“Maman?”

“Jonathan, what’s wrong?” He winced when his mother’s voice grew desperate.

“I just, I don’t know what to do.” He sniffed, pushing his nose in to his shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut to stave off the tears. “I don’t know what to do for him anymore.”

His mom didn’t need to ask who “him” was because she knew her son…and she had also been getting the Google alerts. Including one from that morning with a blurry picture of what was surely her son with a slumped Patrick at his side in what looked to be a frat house. The headline doing nothing to give credibility to Deadspin as she read the conflicting accounts about how Jonathan had either dragged Patrick out kicking and screaming or fought off a few partiers on his way out. 

Depending on what you wanted to believe.

“Honey, that poor boy is lost right now. You can give him literally everything you have and it won’t make a difference if he doesn’t want the help. You know what you need to do.” She said sadly.

Jonathan sighed. “I know, Maman. I’m afraid to, though.”

She had only ever known her son to be afraid of two things in his life. The dark; which he had gotten over as he got older. And failing Patrick Kane.

“Let him come to you when he is ready…he will, my love. He knows how to find you.”

They spoke quietly for a few more minutes before Jonathan hung up with the promise of finally coming to see his mother when he got back home.

Three hours later, Jonathan was still sitting on the couch. The earliest flight back to Manitoba wasn’t until the following morning and he didn’t have the energy to move, let alone go to a nicer hotel for the night. He’d allowed the tears to fall once he had hung up with his mother, but he wouldn’t allow it anymore. If this was what Patrick needed to do to ease the pain, whatever pain he was feeling, he needed to trust him to seek him out when he was ready.

Jonathan trusted Patrick with his life, literally, on a daily basis and never thought twice about it. 

He now had to pray that Patrick felt the same way.

Jonathan realized when the sun had long since set, that he hadn’t eaten in almost 48 hours. His stomach rumbled as he flipped through the phone book that he’d found in the nightstand by the Bible and was looking for takeout menus when there was a soft knock at the door.

He wasn’t scheduled for checkout until morning.

Looking through the peep-hole he could just make out the blonde curls as he quickly opened the door. Patrick stood two feet away from him, biting his lip as he looked no further than Jonathan’s throat before his gaze dropped back to the floor.

Jonathan wasn’t sure if he should wait for Patrick to speak first or not. Seconds stretched the tension between them until it felt claustrophobic.

“Patrick, I…” Jonathan started as Patrick launched himself forward, their chests thudding together. 

Patrick’s arms clutched tight around Jonathan as he buried his face in the taller man’s neck.

Jonathan maneuvered them back into the room and kicked the door shut, not daring to move any further. His hands shakily reached up to run through the blonde curls as he pulled him in tighter.

Patrick pulled back only enough so that he could talk. “I’ve been sitting in the parking lot this whole time.” Patrick blushed, “I remembered calling you. I was…sinking and I just didn’t really know what to do. Didn’t really know how to stop it. All I could think was that you would know what to do. You would know how to save me…I can’t do this anymore.” Patrick’s voice broke and Jonathan needed to remind himself that crushing Patrick against him wouldn’t do either of them any good.

He loosened his grip, if only slightly. “Ready to get out of here?” Jonathan asked.

Patrick sniffed, his arms tightening. “Yes. Anywhere!”

“Even Winnipeg?” Jonathan grinned when Patrick nodded against his chest. “Wanna go watch the moose with me?”

Patrick laughed.

Jonathan grinned over the top of Patrick’s head. Feeling for the first time in a long time like everything might be okay. “Wow, you must really be serious.”

“Asshole.” Patrick mumbled, making no movement to step away.

Jonathan rested his cheek against the unruly curls. “Plane leaves in the morning. Let’s eat and get some rest, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> So what did you think? Feedback is like air...
> 
> Also, I am posting this as a sort of peace-offering to anyone who reads "Maybe Forgiveness Is right Where You Fell"...I promise I have not forgotten about it, but I am helping a friend with her fic and she has been absolutely wonderful to me so I am trying to be as awesome as she is in return and it requires all of my attention!! But I am hoping to have a new chapter to Forgiveness up by the end of the weekend!! Please don't kill me!!


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